


God Only Knows

by lumosy



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Child Abuse, Drug Addiction, Grumpy Isak, Hurt Even Bech Næsheim, Hurt Isak Valtersen, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, everyone is depressed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-02-01 02:06:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12694827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumosy/pseuds/lumosy
Summary: They turn, and Even is standing in the doorway with a joint in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other, and he's looking at Isak like he wants to eat him alive.Or: The universe where Eskild never rescues Isak at the bar and Even never transfers to Bakka.





	God Only Knows

“Can I get you a cab?” The bartender is older than Isak, clearly, but not by much. He looks concerned and slightly annoyed at the distressed teenager sprawled over his bar counter, nearly missing several glasses with his arms as he waves them about in misery.  Isak is past caring—was past caring about 4 drinks ago.

Isak looks up in dismay at the mention of a cab. “No!” He reaches for his pocket, intent on finding some bills to buy more drinks, but his hands feel strange and heavy and can’t seem to find their target.  His second attempt yields no better results and he nearly falls backward off of the stool. 

The bartender seems to be fighting some sort of inner battle behind the bar as he watches him flail, and finally pulls a phone out of his pocket.

“I think it’s time to go home.” He starts to dial, watching Isak with narrow eyes. 

Home—Isak had been home, hadn’t he? He could barely remember. He was there, hours ago, he thinks he can remember the cuts, smell the sharp blood, feel the cuts under his clothes. He remembers a voice in his ear. 

_Sinner._

_A hand with white knuckles, gripping his arm. ‘You must let me cleanse you of your sins, Isak!’ Bony fingers grasping his, pushing them closer and closer to the flame. ‘Sins must be punished! You will pay for the crimes you commit!’_

He remembers that he does not want to go back to that place. 

“No! I can’t go home!” Isak cradles his burnt hand and something in his eyes must speak to the bartender because he sighs and tucks the phone back into his pocket. 

He opens his mouth and Isak dreads what will come next, but a shrill voice from across the bar asking for a martini effectively distracts him. He gives Isak one last look before plastering a smile on his face and shuffling towards a group of girls in neon miniskirts and high heels. 

They look like they're having fun, Isak thinks. They've got friends and money and have clearly just started their night, and Isak is nearly passed out drunk on a barstool and he's got school in 7 hours.

Isak’s head starts to droop and he has never wished for a bed more than this moment. The music is blasting so loudly he can hardly think, the obnoxious bass tone ringing between his temples like a bell. The lights are colorful and flashing just enough to be disorienting. He thinks he's probably never been this drunk before, so drunk that he can’t see, just make out swirling shapes in the lights. 

He fumbles for his phone and almost calls Jonas out of familiarity, but hesitates with his finger over the call symbol. Doubt worms itself through he haze of alcohol and he rethinks his decision. The way he feels right now, this wide, gaping hole in his chest, is entirely too vulnerable to be around Jonas. 

When he slumps down and rests his head on the bar, thinking vacantly about dark curls and kind eyes, the hole only seems to grow exponentially larger, like a hand reaching into his chest and yanking his guts out, twisting them around, and stuffing them back in sloppily so that everything sits in the wrong place in his weird, gangly mess of a body. That would explain why his stomach is churning like acid. 

Or is that from the alcohol?

A warm hand settles on his back. He turns to see a— _handsome,_ Isak brain drunkenly supplies—stranger with shaggy brown hair behind him holding a half-empty beer. The man is a few inches taller than Isak and has wide, dark eyes, crinkled in the corners as he smiles. 

“I think you need a nice place to rest, huh, kid?” He is good-looking enough that Isak just blinks dumbly at him for a few moments, making the older man laugh. “I’m Martin. You can crash on my couch.” Isak nods vacantly and through the haze, he feels his legs moving, feels himself leaning against a hard shoulder, and an arm wraps around him when the door opens and the autumn chill seeps through his thin t-shirt. 

When he’s finally settled on a warm seat, he gratefully sinks into it and drifts to sleep.

When Isak wakes, he’s being carried through a small, dingy living room and deposited onto a bed in the corner of a small room with posters covering the walls and ceiling. He gazes around and tries to turn, but his wasted body won’t respond. He experimentally wiggles a finger, but it just looks like a sad limp thing laying on the bed. His legs aren’t much better.

A large body climbs into the bed behind him, effectively caging him in. If he was able to move, he would jump in surprise, however, all that comes out is a dull squeak.

Isak feels lips on the side of his neck. A hand climbs up his thigh, making him shiver. He stares at the wall and tries to force his brain into compliance. His brain pounds against his skull sporadically like a broken drum.

_Where am I? Who is this?_

The hand shifts under his shirt and strokes over his stomach. He tries to speak, but through the fog in his brain, he can barely manage a weak moan. The man behind him—and its definitely a man, Isak can feel that— turns Isak slightly, to reach his mouth. 

When their lips touch Isak is too overwhelmed to move a muscle. The man’s lips are soft and gentle, yet demanding, and so unlike a girl that Isak starts to harden in his jeans, despite himself. 

_I’m kissing a boy._

His head spins, again, and he giggles. “You like that?” The man whispers into his mouth. Isak giggles dumbly against his smile. 

_A boy is kissing me._

Isak enjoys the soft kissing for a moment before it grows heavy and rough. Gentle hands become bruising. Foggily, Isak can feel his shirt being pulled off, skin exposed to the cold air. He feels hands on his chest and he tries to speak but finds he can sparsely move his neck as he struggles to catch a glimpse of the man. 

He sees brown shaggy hair and his panic quells for a moment as the memories of the bar come floating foggily back. He remembers Martin approaching him and his charming smile. Martin is good looking— handsome, even, and definitely a lot older than Isak. 

Isn’t this what he dreamt of late at night, when he was alone?  Isn’t this what he had been dreaming about? The panic returns in waves.

_I should want this. Why don't I want this?_

When his pants slide down his legs, Isak is barely aware. He feels disconnected from his body, as if he is floating just above, watching himself like a film.  He stares at the scene, and a sharp wave of self-hatred pours over him, so strong that for a moment he forgets where he is, what’s happening to him. 

Until he feels a sharp burst of pain and he still can’t move his arms, or remember how to speak, or do anything but shed a single tear as he stares at the ceiling, feeling too small to say no, until Martin rolls to the side and starts to snore, and Isak tenderly curls his arms around himself and surrenders to the haze of alcohol and the heavy pull of sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve definitely taken some creative luxuries in this story. This is canon up to season 2.  
> In my universe, Eskild and Isak never meet at the bar, meaning Isak doesn’t have a safe place to stay. After his episode Even stays at Bakka and manages to salvage his reputation with everyone except for the balloon squad, and he still has some social media. The timeline is definitely off. I know the boy squad isn't formed until season 3, but I'm ignoring that.  
> This is not a happy story, but it will have a happy ending.
> 
> TW: non-graphic sexual assault scene


End file.
